What's in a Name?
by ElouiseBates
Summary: A brief glimpse into the life of Emma and Mr. Knightley as they try to decide what to name their firstborn.


In a quiet study, seated at a large, imposing desk, a lovely woman was frowning terribly over the lists she was scratching. One hand rested gently on her swollen belly, while the other flicked the quill impatiently.

"Really," she said aloud. "I do think it most unkind that John and Isabella used all the family names already."

"Talking to yourself, Emma?"

Emma Knightley looked up from her work with a relieved smile lighting her face. "Mr. Knightley," she said. "How long have you been standing there?"

Mr. Knightley stepped through the open window to look over his wife's shoulder. "Still trying to decide on a name? Really, Emma, the baby is not due for another month or more."

Emma wearily pushed a tendril of dark hair out of her eyes. "My dear Mr. Knightley, have you any idea what troublesome work it is choosing a name? We should have started this months ago."

Mr. Knightley smiled slightly and decided to humor his wife. "Well, let us see what you have written." He picked up the first list. "Emma—_taken_. Isabella—_taken_. Catherine—_possible_. Anna—_taken but possible_. Juliet. Rosalind." He raised an eyebrow. "Have you been reading Shakespeare again?"

"They are lovely names," Emma said defensively.

He wisely chose not to comment. "Mary," he continued to read. "Elizabeth. Sophia." The eyebrow rose again. "Isn't that Miss Bates' name?"

Emma colored. "Oh dear." She took the list back and crossed out 'Sophia.' "I had forgotten that."

"You do have some lovely names on there, dear. What is the difficulty in choosing?"

Emma frowned at the paper. "None of them feel right. This is our first child; its name is dreadfully important. Isabella has already taken all our family names, and I do not want to be like Harriet."

Harriet Martin was the proud mother of three children: Robert, Florentia, and Dorothea.

"She did seem pick rather overdramatic names for her daughters," Mr. Knightley admitted.

"And Jane and Frank did just as poorly in the other direction."

The two Churchill children were named Frank and Jane."

"It does appear to be a more difficult job than I first comprehended," Mr. Knightley conceded. He picked up the other list. "What choices do we have for boys?"

"John, George, and Henry are all taken," Emma said. "Charles is a nice name, as are Philip and Samuel and Edward … but again, none of them seem quite right for our child. He or she should have something noble, something handsome, something strong and sweet."

"And something fit for everyday use," Mr. Knightley added with a twinkle in his eye.

Emma sighed. "Hence the trouble."

Mr. Knightley bent and kissed his wife's smooth brow. "Never fret, dear. We will think of something."

* * *

One month and one day later, the proud parents gazed adoringly at their new daughter. She was red and wrinkled and looked absurdly small in her long white gown and lacy cap, but to their eyes, she was the most beautiful thing ever to grace the earth.

"You were right," Mr. Knightley whispered. "She does need a special name, one all her own."

Emma was exhausted and drawn after a long and grueling labor, but all tiredness fell away as her daughter nestled a bit more tightly into her arms. "So what shall it be?"

"Cecilia," Mr. Knightley said, his besotted gaze never leaving the baby's face.

"Cecilia?" Emma asked. "It's lovely … but where did it come from?"

"My sister."

Emma was too weary to sit upright, but the piercing look she gave her husband served as effectively as if she had jumped into the air. "Your sister! You don't have a sister."

"Not now, no. She was born when I was eight and John four. He does not remember her … we never spoke of her much. She only lived a week." He lowered his voice as his gaze shifted into the past. "She was a beautiful baby, too. Her eyes were big and blue, her hair was like red silk, and though they claim babies don't smile, I know she did."

He looked back at his own daughter, and his voice trembled perceptibly. "I loved her very much."

Emma took his hand and kissed it. "Cecilia it is, then." She raised the baby to her face and nuzzled her. "Welcome to our world, Cecilia Knightley."

The baby cooed, and, proving traditional wisdom wrong, smiled happily at her parents.

* * *

_**Author's Note:** I've often wondered what Emma and Mr. Knightley would have named their children, as John and Isabella had used all the family names. I thought it possible that they could reuse some--it wasn't unheard of in those days for cousins to have the names names--but knowing their independent mindsets, I thought it quite likely that they would want to pick something different. From that curiosity sprang this tale--no real point to it, no deeper meaning, just a bit of fun.  
_


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